


heaven holds a sense of wonder, and i wanted to believe

by warsfeil



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Biting, Incest, M/M, Punching, mild dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22553086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warsfeil/pseuds/warsfeil
Summary: “Back again?” Belphegor asked, without opening his eyes. He didn’t need to; he’d become more than familiar with the sound of Lucifer’s shoes on the floor, stiff soles against the polished wood. It wasn’t like there was anyone else to concentrate on, an endless repetition of the same person he actively didn’t want to see.Belphegor is a petulant, angry baby. Lucifer is an angry, upset baby. They work through their emotions... poorly.
Relationships: Lucifer/Belphegor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 123





	heaven holds a sense of wonder, and i wanted to believe

**Author's Note:**

> _heaven holds a sense of wonder_  
>  and i wanted to believe  
> that i'd get caught up  
> when the rage in me subsides 

“Back again?” Belphegor asked, without opening his eyes. He didn’t need to; he’d become more than familiar with the sound of Lucifer’s shoes on the floor, stiff soles against the polished wood. It wasn’t like there was anyone else to concentrate on, an endless repetition of the same person he actively didn’t want to see. 

So he refused to open his eyes. If nothing else, he didn’t have to submit to setting eyes on him. He rolled over on the bed, flinging his forearm over his eyes to block out any residual light that managed to light his vision up orange through his eyelids. 

“Have you eaten?” Lucifer said, his voice as patient and measured as ever. Belphegor could track his path through the sounds, Lucifer making no effort to conceal himself or his presence. The scrape of furniture, the smell of food -- none of his favorites, from the smell of it; it smelled like spider legs and assorted side dishes that Belphegor would only begrudgingly put in his mouth -- and then the sound of Lucifer sitting next to the bed, his jacket sliding across the chair as he settled.

Belphegor rolled the other way on the bed.

“You’ll just make yourself ill if you don’t eat,” Lucifer said, as infuriatingly calm as ever, like it wasn’t bothering him in the slightest to keep his brother locked up, like lying to everyone else came as naturally to him as breathing.

“That just works out better for you, doesn’t it?” Belphegor asked, mustering the energy to speak at a great personal cost. Trying to give Lucifer the silent treatment hadn’t worked any better than anything else Belphegor had tried. “If I disappear you don’t have to worry about disappointing Diavolo.”

The silence was long, and Belphegor relished it. It wasn’t much of a hit against Lucifer, not really, but surely it had to count for something when this war was so unequal to begin with.

“Is that what you think I’m worried about?” Lucifer asked, finally. Fabric dragged, the sound of Lucifer’s gloves sliding across his shirt as he crossed his arms, his posture closing off in defense. 

“Wouldn’t want your precious Diavolo to know one of your brothers doesn’t like him,” Belphegor muttered, making no effort to keep the bitterness from his tone. It wasn’t worth the spent energy. “You can keep being his lap dog even easier without me.”

This time, the silence lasted longer. Long enough that Belphegor felt the strain of staying awake start to wear on him: sleep was so close, so easy. He could simply let himself drift away and certainly, when he woke back up, Lucifer would be gone. His dreams were preferable, anyway -- he would vastly prefer to stay in that dream world, with Beelzebub and Lilith by his side, the backdrop of Heaven behind him and no idea of what the future was going to hold. 

“Eat,” Lucifer said, finally, and the command in his voice was enough that Belphegor opened his eyes. He was still facing the wall; he couldn’t see Lucifer, couldn’t read the expression of the demon behind him. 

“No,” Belphegor said. 

The sound of fabric was Belphegor’s only real warning that Lucifer was moving, so it was only partially unexpected when Lucifer reached out, grabbing Belphegor by the shoulder and pressing him back so he was flat against the bed. Belphegor made eye contact for a split second, and then let his gaze slide sideways, petulant until the end. 

“No,” Belphegor repeated. 

“I worry,” Lucifer said, each word very deliberate, his jawline tight and his grip on Belphegor’s shoulder strong, “about _you_.”

It’s absurd, that such a simple statement could send Belphegor’s insides churning, but it happened nonetheless: he felt the world get wrenched away from him, and in the darkness there was only the feeling of falling and the nausea that came with it.

“Don’t lie to me,” Belphegor snapped into the abyss. He wasn’t going to gain any traction and he knew that; this had all been a losing battle from the get-go. No one could fight against Lucifer even _before_ he was backed by Diavolo, so at the very least, Belphegor would count any damage he could do as a victory of itself. “You’re not as good at it as you think you are.”

It was a strike to Lucifer’s pride, and his face set, impassive and stony. It was a pretense, and Belphegor knew it; he could see the way there was carefully contained rage in Lucifer’s shoulders, his body tense with burden of holding back his power.

“Go ahead,” Belphegor said, an easy mockery in his voice. “Let go and fight me. It’s not like I’m powerful enough to stop you. At this point, I’m sure Diavolo would _thank_ you for getting rid of a problem like me--”

“I would never let him hurt you,” Lucifer said, his other hand coming down to grab at Belphegor’s shirt to tug him sitting upright. 

“You sold yourself to him for power,” Belphegor snapped back. He didn’t bother to try to dislodge Lucifer’s grip, he knew better than that, but he reached forward and fisted his own hand into Lucifer’s vest, holding the fabric tight enough that he could feel the seams at the edge start to give.

“I didn’t sell _you_ ,” Lucifer said. 

“Didn’t you? Isn’t that exactly what you did?” Belphegor responded. It was too easy to keep going once he’d started; every microexpression that crossed Lucifer’s face was a victory that Belphegor wanted to imprint on his mind forever. “You’re selling all of us out for _humans_ just to gain a little more favor with your _beloved_ master. Don’t pretend like you care about any of us. You don’t even care about Lilith’s memor--”

The punch was surprising. 

Belphegor didn’t actually expect Lucifer -- strong, prideful, upright Lucifer -- to resort to violence. There’s none of his demonic strength behind it, no wings and horns to display out his rage at the situation, but it was strong enough without it that he could feel the force of it ricochet his body backwards. His grip faltered; Lucifer’s didn’t.

“I loved Lilith,” Lucifer said, the past tense laying a painful red cloud over Belphegor’s vision, “and I love you, whether or not you believe it.”

“Not more than Diavolo.” Belphegor spat out the words like they were acid on his tongue.

“Do you really think that? That I love him more than you -- more than her?” Lucifer demanded, and his hand moved, reaching up to grab Belphegor’s hair and hold on. There was demonic strength in it, that time, but instead of anything remotely approaching fear all Belphegor could manage to feel was elation: even a victory as pyrrhic as making Lucifer lose his temper could bring him joy.

“Prove you don’t,” Belphegor said. He wanted to look away, but the grip on his hair was unforgiving, so instead he just forced his mouth up into a smile that had no happiness whatsoever in it. “Let me out and let me do what I want. Let me rend that human from--”

Lucifer kissed him, and Belphegor’s sentence stuttered to a halt.

It wasn’t, as far as Belphegor could measure, a particularly _good_ kiss: it was nothing more than a near-painful pressure of lips on lips, and even though Belphegor’s were open with him mid-sentence, Lucifer’s stayed closed until he finally withdrew what seemed like hours later. 

“The last thing that I want,” Lucifer said, his voice cold despite his actions, “is to lose you, too.”

Belphegor felt like he was splitting. He could remember what it felt like, to fall from Heaven: like a part of him was being twisted inside-out and remade into something coldly unfamiliar until he wasn’t even certain that the blood running through his veins was his anymore. Lucifer’s grip made him feel the same, in a way, and he hated it.

“I don’t believe you,” Belphegor lied, and used his leverage to fall back against the bed and drag Lucifer with him. 

The next kiss was nothing like the first. It was more like the kind of kiss that Belphegor remembered -- from when they all first fell and drowned their emotions in breaking every boundary between heaven and hell, from letting their grief be forced out by each other’s hands, if only temporarily. It made him sick to think about, brought him back to when everything was still fresh and raw. Everything had healed over wrong, and Belphegor had been put back together without a piece of himself, and kissing Lucifer felt like trying to fill in that void but never quite managing it.

“If he told you to, would you kill me?” Belphegor asked, and Lucifer bit at the side of his neck, instead, hard enough that Belphegor hissed in pain. 

Lucifer didn’t answer, but Belphegor didn’t really expect him to; Belphegor knew where he rated on the scale of Lucifer’s loyalty, and it was low enough that hearing the answer would still hurt enough that Belphegor allowed it to pass unsaid. It was easier to drown in the pain of Lucifer’s teeth, of his nails where they dragged down Belphegor’s side under his shirt.

Belphegor closed his eyes against the sensation. 

“Don’t you dare sleep through this,” Lucifer said, and pressed a knee in between Belphegor’s thighs. Oh, it would be so _easy_ , to reject him, to hurt him -- Belphegor could imagine the look on Lucifer’s face -- but the words don’t make it past his throat. They get wrapped up in his tongue, and when he opens his eyes, Lucifer is looking down at him, desperation breaking through the mask of his calm, and Belphegor tastes nothing but regret. 

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Belphegor said. 

There was relief in Lucifer’s eyes, for just a moment before he bore down; Belphegor opened his mouth for the kiss and let Lucifer’s tongue wash away the ashes of regret that was so thick inside of him. He wondered if Lucifer could taste it, if Lucifer could sense it -- surely the millenia they’d spent together were good for something? Could Lucifer tell how furious Belphegor was as easily as Belphegor knew the truth of Lucifer’s strained loyalties? 

Belphegor didn’t want to think about it anymore. If he wasn’t going to be allowed to sleep, then he supposed this was the next best thing; he reached up and grabbed at Lucifer’s coat to fling it haphazardly onto the floor. Lucifer allowed it, leaning back and breaking the kiss long enough to tug his gloves off with his teeth, seemingly uninterested in the moderate abuse of his clothing and equally uninterested in actually letting his grip on Belphegor falter in the slightest. When Belphegor reached up, Lucifer deftly grabbed his wrist, pinning it back down to the bed.

“Wow,” Belphegor said, falling back and giving up on that angle without bothering to try any further. “You’re so~ strong.”

Lucifer seemed unphased by the light mockery, and he seemed equally unphased when Belphegor reached up with his free hand. It was a slow movement, and Lucifer had plenty of time to stop it. He didn’t. Belphegor traced down the line of Lucifer’s jaw. 

Belphegor wished on a regular basis that it had been him that had died. If Lilith had lived, surely she would have been able to do something about all of this -- to stop Lucifer from betraying all of them for Diavolo, to stop the way things had been careening so far out of control for so long. Lilith would never want to kill humans, but that was because she was better than Belphegor was. It didn’t seem fair that the best of all of them had been the one to die.

Belphegor dug in with his nails, the anger bubbling to the surface. It was easy to scratch lines down Lucifer’s throat, and Lucifer _let him_ , let his nails drag down to his shirt and his vest and rip into the fabric there.

“ _Now_ you just sit back and let me do whatever I want?” Belphegor demanded, laughing without a trace of mirth. 

“Will that make you happy?” Lucifer asked.

“No,” Belphegor said, and pulled hard enough to rip half of Lucifer’s vest, the seams breaking at their weakest point. 

“Fine,” Lucifer said. He reached up and mirrored Belphegor’s actions, the fabric of Belphegor’s shirt giving much more easily than the stiff suiting fabric of Lucifer’s vest. 

It didn’t make Belphegor happy, of course. It _didn’t_. That kind of intimacy wasn’t what he wanted, and it was a poor substitute, but it was all he had, wasn’t it? When he was locked away from everyone else, and Lucifer was his jailkeeper -- well, it was positively devilish, that he’d be the only one able to keep Belphegor occupied. 

“So you may as well get on with it,” Belphegor said. 

Lucifer didn’t reply, but Belphegor didn’t really expect him to. Belphegor didn’t know what Lucifer was getting out of the entire encounter, not when their dynamic had changed so much that Belphegor couldn’t even begin to understand where they both stood, but it was clear that Lucifer wanted it in some capacity. When Belphegor tilted his hips up against Lucifer’s, he could feel the hard line of Lucifer’s dick, and he could tell that if nothing else, they were in the same mindset.

Belphegor couldn’t hope to undress either of them properly, not when Lucifer seemed intent on only letting him use one of his hands, so he resorted to cruder means: his nails could still thrum with his power, and he could still split fabric open to expose as much of Lucifer as he could. If Lucifer had to walk back to his room like that, so be it: the humiliation would be what he deserved.

“Stop that,” Lucifer said, reaching up to grab Belphegor’s other hand. Both of his wrists were pinned down a moment later as Lucifer shrugged off the remnants of his vest. His shirt, upsettingly, was still mostly intact, and he managed to swiftly undo it with one hand, shrugging it off in a maneuver complicated by his refusal to let Belphegor up.

“What,” Belphegor said, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, “don’t want to risk Diavolo realizing you’re in someone else’s bed--”

Belphegor cut off, the pressure at his wrists hard enough to hurt, and hissed out a breath, instead. He would have liked to pretend it didn’t do anything, but the burn was an echo all the way down to his dick, and he shifted his body underneath Lucifer. 

“If you don’t want me in your bed--” Lucifer began.

“Fuck me,” Belphegor said, as rudely as he could, delighting in the way the vulgarity made a shadow pass across Lucifer’s face. “Then you can leave and go back to whatever it is you’re trying to do -- make peace with your humans and follow your master’s lead and leave all of us behind.”

Lucifer let Belphegor’s hands go, grabbing at his hips instead, and Belphegor arched up into the touch, leaving his wrists exactly where Lucifer had left them.

“Isn’t that what you want? Hey, if you keep locking people up, can you send Beel next,” Belphegor said, letting his eyes flutter when Lucifer leaned in to grind their hips together. “It’d be nice to have some company--”

Lucifer didn’t count as company. Lucifer didn’t count as anything, and Belphegor kept telling himself that, but not being able to rely on him hurt in a way that Belphegor didn’t anticipate. Ahh, he wanted to hate Lucifer more than he did, he wanted to kill all the memories he had of things like loving him and trusting him, but instead he found himself reaching out, wrapping his arms around Lucifer and lifting his hips obediently when Lucifer tugged at his pants. 

Lucifer leaned back, rising up to shove his own pants down, and Belphegor followed, pressing against Lucifer like it was a personal mission not to give him any extra ground. He didn’t have the energy for this, he thought, but he did it anyway: he latched onto Lucifer and bit down, determined to leave a mark there.

He hoped everyone else saw it. All of his brothers, he knew they would just assume it was Diavolo, but what would Diavolo assume? Ah, it made him happy to imagine Lucifer stuck in such an awkward position, even if it didn’t hold a candle to being locked in an attic. 

“Don’t you dare,” Lucifer said, clearly knowing exactly what Belphegor was thinking, but he didn’t move fast enough to stop Belphegor from worrying in deep enough to draw blood. Lucifer grabbed him by the hair again, pulling him off, and Belphegor offered him a pleasant smile with Lucifer’s blood still on his lips.

“You’re impossible,” Lucifer said, and pushed Belphegor back down. Belphegor went willingly, wrapping a leg behind Lucifer to drag him down, and Lucifer followed, dragging Belphegor’s hips up. 

Belphegor let his arms fall slack to the bed, with nothing to hold on to now that Lucifer had stripped them both so efficiently. 

Lucifer was always a conscientious lover, and it seemed that even in the height of an anger fuck that didn’t change: Belphegor had lotion in his drawer, and of _course_ Lucifer knew where it was when he was the one who had to give Belphegor everything. It wasn’t as though Belphegor had access to Akuzon, locked up as he was.

When Lucifer pressed in, it was blindingly overwhelming. For a long, thankful moment there was nothing in Belphegor’s mind but the sensation of the burning stretch, of being full in some desperate sense, even if he was still irreparably broken. He heard himself groan into the quiet, heard the sound of Lucifer’s unsteady breathing -- how far had things come, from chaste kisses pressed against each other back in heaven? From the desperate clinging they’d all done to each other after the Fall? 

The pause when Lucifer was fully buried into Belphegor was almost enough for Belphegor to start to think again, and he didn’t want that. The silence was better than the seething rage that had been thrumming through him for weeks now -- it was all-consuming, and he hated every moment of it, hated himself for never being strong enough to do a single thing when it mattered. But with Lucifer starting to pick up a rhythm, starting to move against him and inside of him, it was so familiar in all the right ways that Belphegor could _almost_ forget the circumstances surrounding them.

“Ah--” Belphegor hadn’t meant to let it slip, but it was inevitable, when Lucifer wrapped his hand around Belphegor’s dick. Lucifer’s hands were soft, always protected by gloves, and the sensation was another added projectile that helped overload all of Belphegor’s senses.

It was easier than he thought, to get lost in it. Belphegor wondered if that was why this was happening: if Lucifer, too, had regrets; if he wanted to forget his obligations and all of his anger for a moment. It was a comforting, heart-wrenching feeling that Belphegor didn’t know what to do with when he knew that things were going to go right back to how they’d been an hour ago. There was no easy way out of this for either of them.

Lucifer braced himself with one hand on either side of Belphegor’s head, and Belphegor reached up, closing his eyes against the entire situation. It was easier to wrap his arms around Lucifer, to stop trying to stymie the flow of moans that kept pressing out of him with every thrust, to lose himself in it. He felt Lucifer’s lips at his neck again, every hot breath like a brand of hot metal to his oversensitive skin.

Neither of them said anything when they came. It wasn’t in tandem -- Belphegor came first, feeling himself stutter through an orgasm and start to writhe in the sensitive aftermath, and Lucifer seemed to hold on just long enough that it was uncomfortable for Belphegor, just long enough that it could seem like a punishment instead of a balm over both of their wounds. 

Belphegor supposed he should just be grateful that Lucifer didn’t say Diavolo’s name. That would have been the actual worst.

Belphegor didn’t move his arms. He didn’t move at all, actually: he felt Lucifer shift out of him, eventually, and lay down half-on Belphegor, one hand combing through his hair like he would when they were still angels. 

Belphegor remembered going to Lucifer when he would have nightmares, before everything had happened. Big, beautiful Lucifer, with his white wings and his radiant smile, all of Heaven backing him -- he would laugh at the idea of Belphegor having anything to be afraid of, because what was there to fear when Belphegor had Lucifer there to protect him? 

Ah… Belphegor felt a stinging in his eyes that made him even his breath out instinctively, to keep his eyes closed against the reality of the situation. He was alone, now, unable to trust in the person he thought would stand by him, unable to contact anyone else. 

Without the anger, the reality of the situation was so depressing it made it hard to breathe. 

“Belphegor,” Lucifer said. Belphegor didn’t respond, very carefully, even as Lucifer disentangled himself from Belphegor’s grasp. Belphegor let his arms fall limp, like he had no conscious control of them.

“Belphegor.” And then, again, slightly quieter: “Belphie.”

Belphegor prayed that the flinch he gave at the nickname was entirely internal. It seemed to be, when Lucifer fell quiet, letting his hand card through Belphegor’s hair.

“You’re going to wake up and be disgusting, if you fall asleep now,” Lucifer said, but his voice only sounded upsettingly fond. Belphegor felt his stomach roll, and he let himself roll over, pretending to be asleep, letting his arms reach out for a pillow. 

Lucifer’s hand froze, and was then withdrawn, and then his weight left the bed entirely. Belphegor listened to the sounds: Lucifer gathering his clothing, pulling on what was still wearable. The distinct sound of Lucifer checking his watch and sighing; of him adjusting the food he’d brought up. 

Belphegor could feel himself drifting, listening to the sounds. The entire encounter had been more exhausting than he had thought, and now his body was sore, aching where Lucifer had struck him, where Lucifer had stopped caring about bruises and blemishes.

Lucifer leaned down, the sound of his shirt giving away the impact a split second before his lips pressed against Belphegor’s forehead. In his dream, as it slowly transposed itself over reality, Lucifer was backlit by radiance: Lilith’s laughter went through the room, and the smell of home wrapped around them all in a nostalgic safe room. 

“I would burn the world for you,” Lucifer murmured, quiet, like there was a chance his volume might disturb Belphegor.

Belphegor wished that it wouldn’t just be a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> breaks into a new fandom with thousands of notes on demonic lore slipping out of my pockets  
> sorry guys i just,   
> shit i just,
> 
> i just really love demons -- 
> 
> you can find me on twt @warsfeils! talk to me about belphegor being locked in gay baby jail.


End file.
